This is a difficult thing to deal with. Maybe you have a relative who you want to be there for, but they never take any level of responsibility for anything they say they are going to do.
Maybe you've begged your partner constantly to improve upon certain aspects of the relationship. You give them chance after chance, only to have them make your desire for improvement and growth with them into the problem.
They throw into your face everything they do for you, along with the time and money they spend on you, steering the conversation away from the things they could do better and onto why you shouldn't be asking anything of them. Do not get distracted. Do not allow them to guilt you into not calling them out. However, it is indeed understandable how you have gotten to this point.
If a lot of my friends and family are suddenly more "apolitical," I am referring to many of my queer, disabled, trans, Latinx, and BIPOC friends and family members, or more in the mood of "I don't want to talk or think about politics now," I get it. At least I think I do. We all only have so much bandwidth and spoons. Not all of us can keep up with every single outrageous thing that is happening in the USA. And there will be a lot of that. Self-care is important. Self-care is not selfishness, it is self-preservation.
Thank you so much for the support on this story! I couldn't have done it without any of you <333 And sorry it took so long, but I hope the ending is worth it :D!!
Special thanks to @ gregorysarmy on Tumblr for both sending the ask and creating the theory that inspired this work in the first place. I wouldn't have finished it without their kind comments and encouragement!
If anyone wants to know the direction the ending is going to go, I did a poll a while back asking people which direction they liked best. In order not to spoil anything, I'll leave the link here if you want to know: https://www.tumblr.com/riahlynn101/789728662981427200/i-need-help-planning-the-ending-of?source=share
Trigger warnings: Suicidal tendencies, talk of murder-suicide, mentioned gun violence, lack of bodily autonomy, cussing, murder, and implied/referenced abuse/social isolation.
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Chapter 14: Half-Shaded Memories
It comes right for her, bunny head hanging precariously in its grip. Vanessa tries to scream but the sound quickly dies in her throat. She ducks down, avoiding one of the monster’s lanky arms. It swings another, and this time, it clips her shoulder. It sends her tumbling to the floor. On her hands and knees, she crawls along in the darkness.
Behind her, somewhere hidden amongst the pitch-black darkness, she hears it land with a resounding thud. Vanessa hurries to drag herself underneath a nearby table overlaid with, what was probably once, a beautiful lace table cloth. She lays her cheek on the dirty floor, trying to peek out.
Vanessa catches her breath. It comes out sounding shaky, matching perfectly with her trembling hands and racing thoughts. Like her entire body is afraid to react, to breathe, to do much of anything in fear that that thing might hear her.
Without half of her memories - memories that weren’t so much as stolen from her, as they were never truly hers to begin with.Those were the memories that belonged to another version of her. A version of her that only resides in the recesses of her slowly-healing mind - she doesn’t know what to do or where to go. This thing, this monster, is an enigma to her. Every action and reaction could very well be playing into its hand. No, for her sake and, more importantly, for Gregory’s sake, she needs to think things through.
It skitters across the floor, probably- no, definitely looking for her. She sucks in a breath. Be brave, Vanessa, she tells herself. Another thought joins the first. One that she’s been thinking all night, what would Gregory do?
Huh? What would Gregory do?
Of course, when the roles were reversed, and he had to rescue her, he must have had some kind of plan. Vanessa mentally berates herself for not discussing that night more. They only talked about it - barely - when trying (and failing) to save Cassie, or trying (and once again, failing) to trap that thing down in the basement. Little things here and there. A shared memory. A connection. Nothing more. She didn’t like to think about it, and now it’s come to bite her in the ass. Maybe in her quest to leave the past behind, she had done more harm than good. Maybe this is all just the consequences of her own actions.
The thing gets closer. She can hear it, chittering as it scours the floor. It stops abruptly, right in front of the table. She doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just stays as still as humanly possible. It slips a clawed hand underneath the table. It drags it across the floor, left to right, searching for her.
Vanessa’s eyes widen as she watches it draw closer and closer. She silently backs away, dragging herself along her stomach. These are the claws that killed all those people. That ripped them apart, piece-by-bloody-piece. Another inch and it would reach her.
Another inch and she wouldn’t be hidden by the table cloth any longer. She’s trapped, and unless she’s faster than a robot or monster or whatever this thing is, she won’t be leaving here in one piece.
The clawed hand slips away, leaving Vanessa to catch her breath once more. Just then, the hand returns and grips her by her shirt collar. It yanks her out from underneath the table. It stands overtop of her. Its features are obscured, but she can see enough for her heart to skip one beat, then two.
“Vanny,” it sing-songs, seeming to gloat.
She brings a hand up to block her face. The scream that died in her throat earlier, shatters the quiet. She watches helplessly as one of its claws comes right for her face. It brushes her cheek-
A bright light is turned on. It nearly blinds her, but she has enough wherewithal to shut her eyes. The thing stumbles back, screeching.
“Stop! Get away from her!”
That voice! She knows that voice!
She picks her head up, squinting her eyes against the harsh light. He stands above her, haloed by bright light. Her eyes fill with tears. For a second, she had thought she’d never see him again. He grabs her by the hand.
“There’s no time,” he says, impatiently dragging her along. That thing still hasn’t stopped screeching, but there’s no telling how long they have until it recovers.
Gregory throws the lamp to the side, and they race to the now wide open door. He leads her by the hand out of the room. They don’t say anything as they make their way out of the building. Scattered moonlight streams down on them from a broken window.
Gregory pauses at the stairs, glancing at the rusted door. It’s her turn to lead him by the hand. “Come on,” she says, softly. “Let’s go home.”
He takes several seconds to acknowledge her, continuing to stare at the door. There’s something akin to sadness in his eyes.
He must have been so scared.
They both can hear that monster still screeching and screaming. It stops and Gregory finally acknowledges she’s there. “Yeah, let’s go.” He grips her hand and they both hurry up the stairs, leaving that awful, awful room behind. At some point that thing would need to be dealt with, but for tonight, they can go home and rest in their own beds. Safe and sound until fate knocks them over the head with their past sins.
The apartment is so still and so quiet that it takes Vanessa a solid minute to figure out what’s wrong. Gregory and her slip their shoes off, and hang their jackets up in the closet. He mumbles a half-hearted “goodnight” before heading straight for his bedroom and shutting the door. She would scold him for not brushing his teeth, but after the two days he’s been gone, she can’t bring herself to care about anything except for the fact that he’s actually home. And she wouldn’t be surprised if he just needed some privacy for a little while.
They would talk about it in the morning. There were a lot of things they needed to discuss. A lot of things that Vanessa’s been bottling up and most likely things she’s made Gregory repress by refusing to say anything about their time under that thing’s control.
She’s halfway to her bedroom when she realizes what’s wrong.
“Freddy?” She calls out. “Freddy!? Where are you?” Sure, he had been acting weird earlier, but that didn’t mean she wanted him gone. She looks all over the house, but he’s nowhere to be found. We’ll look for him tomorrow, she reasons to herself. She doesn’t like the idea of a giant robot roaming all over town, especially one that likely wouldn’t defend itself if a group of teenagers decided to vandalize him. Gregory would be so upset if his only friend came home in pieces.
Vanessa yawns. She’ll worry about it tomorrow. She’s too tired to do much of anything except sleep. It’s been a long day. Too long to think about Freddy or that thing that’s surely still screeching in the basement or how they shouldn’t stay here, just in case. Her body feels heavy and her ears haven’t stopped ringing and she just wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a hundred-thousand years or until Gregory needs her again - whichever comes first.
So, she checks on Gregory, half-opening his door to make sure he hasn’t somehow slipped out. That he’s really, actually there. That the past few hours haven’t been a hallucination of the worst kind. But he lies curled up underneath his covers, already fast asleep. Vanessa silently closes the door, smiling to herself.
She makes the rest of the arduous journey to her own bedroom. She doesn’t bother to change out of her clothes. She’ll worry about it tomorrow.
Content and at ease for the first time in days, Vanessa drifts off to sleep.
Vanessa wakes up feeling wrong. Her bedroom is still nearly pitch-black and when she leans over to read off her alarm clock it reads one in the morning. The red, glowing numbers feel like a warning sign to her easily frightened, paranoid brain.
She turns over, resolute to ignore any and all signs, especially of the paranoid sort. Her head is just about to hit the pillow when she spots Gregory standing at her bedside. She jumps.
“Gregory,” she murmurs, clutching a hand to her chest. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“I miss my family,” he says. His voice is oddly monotone. It strikes her as odd, both because Gregory has never acted like that before, and because for such a heart-wrenching topic, she would expect some emotion. But Vanessa, who is still half-asleep and nowhere near awake enough to judge anyone, thinks of this only in passing.
She rubs the sleep from her eyes. This feels more important than sleep. She thought they would talk about everything in the morning, but if Gregory wants to have this discussion now, who is she to deny him that closure. Honestly, now that she’s thinking about it, she’s surprised they haven’t had this conversation sooner. Surely he’s thought about his parents. Guilt weighs on her like concrete.
Has she been the reason he hasn’t talked about his parents? Did he not want to upset her? Or does he simply not remember them? She feels remorseful that she hopes it’s the latter rather than the former, if only to assuage her own guilt, just a little.
“I miss my family,” he repeats, a little louder but still with the same monotonousness.
“Your mom and dad,” she starts to say.
Gregory interrupts her with a forceful, “I miss my family, Vanny.”
Vanessa gasps. Her mind goes blank as all the memories - the memories that don’t technically belong to her, as she is right now - come flooding back in collections of things and actions and words that she doesn’t want to remember. “Greg-ory….?” She mumbles, feeling weak in a way she hasn’t since Gregory freed her.
Gregory’s eyes seem to light up with barely concealed enthusiasm. “I miss Vanny and our dad and Freddy.”
It’s then that Vanessa makes the horrifying realization that Gregory’s holding something down at his side.
“Gregory..?”
“But dad said I don’t have to miss Vanny any longer. As long as I did what he told me to, and came home with you and gave you your present.”
Vanessa feels her heart skip several beats as he reveals her old, costumed bunny head. It hangs like a severed head in his grasp. He holds it by the ears, a giant smile spreading across his face.
“Do you like your present?” He asks, joyous like a child on Christmas morning. “Freddy went through so much trouble to bring it back here just for you!”
Vanessa glances at her doorway where Freddy stands, blocking her only (safe) way out of this.
“Oh, put it on!” He urges, climbing onto her bed. “C’mon!”
She scrambles backwards, trying to get away from them; from that. The empty costume head seems to smile mockingly at her. Gregory gets closer and closer. “C’mon,” he says, impatience creeping into his voice. “We miss you very, very much, Vanny. I know we weren’t super close last time, but we know each other better now. We can be an actual family this time around. Things are going to be different. Better. You’ll see.”
Vanessa struggles to untangle herself from her blankets. In her terror, she can’t get free, and Gregory is practically right next to her now. She manages to throw herself off the bed. She hits the side of her head on the nightstand.
She groans in pain but recovers enough to quickly make her way to the window. This isn’t how she wanted to go out, but in the best case scenario she just breaks a leg and will live. Best case scenario if she stays here, she is dragged back into a life she never wanted, ever.
But as she swings a leg outside, she can’t help but look back at Freddy who’s still standing in the doorway, his ears laying flat against his head as he watches her climb outside. And at Gregory who’s still on her bed, the costumed bunny head is still in his arms. He looks lost and scared and exactly like that boy she first kidnapped.
She looks at the ground below and back at her family, because that’s what they are. Her family. Even in the best case scenario there’s no guarantee she’ll ever see them again. And she doubts that thing will ever trust another human to allow Gregory company that isn’t itself or other robots under its influence.
Tears prick the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to hurt anyone else. She liked having privacy and her own place and own life. She didn’t like being under its influence. Vanessa couldn’t think of one positive that came from it, besides meeting Gregory. But even that came from a series of events that she would rather not dwell on.
“Vanny…?”
“Don’t call me that!” She snaps, feeling torn.
“I’m scared,” Gregory says, sounding every bit as frightened as he looks. “Don’t leave me alone.”
Vanessa cries, legs dangling outside the window frame. Just a little push and she’ll be free - one way or another. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. But I can’t do it. I-I can’t hurt people.”
“Mom, please, don’t leave.”
And that, that gets to her. She might’ve been able to ignore everything else, but she can’t ignore what is effectively and unofficially her child, begging her not to leave. All the memories of pain and torture can’t justify leaving him behind, so she does what any sane person would do.
Vanessa swings her legs back inside and shuts the window. “Okay,” she says. “I just need to grab something from the closet first.”
Gregory beams at her. “Okay! Freddy, I told you we wouldn’t have to use force.”
A chill runs down her spine. It’s okay, all this will be over soon. In five minutes, Gregory and her wouldn’t have to be pulled around like puppets, playing “happy family” because of its fucked up need for control.
Her hands shake as she does the combination on her safe. She tries to make her mind go blank. It would be easier that way, but all she can think about is Gregory smiling at her, eating ice cream, finally free. Gregory and her finally having a place to live, celebrating because nothing and no one could ever take that joy away from them. Family movie nights and pizza Fridays and taco Tuesdays; game nights and nights spent in her bed because both of them can hardly stand thunder, especially in the early days.
The safe opens with a click. She reaches for the gun. Can she…?
Can she really, actually pull the trigger? Point it at Gregory’s trusting face and shoot? Sure, she would have no problem killing herself, but Gregory isn’t her. He’s his own person with wants and needs and somewhere deep inside he’s still in there. The true him. And even if it took several more years for either of them to shake it, she needed to be there to either save him or be saved by him (again).
She can’t leave him alone, and she can’t kill him. Which leaves her with one more option. She tucks a few photos into her pockets. Things to help them find their way back. On shaky legs, she leaves the safety of her closet.
“I’m ready,” she says, tears streaming down her face. This is for the best. It has to be, because the thought that she’s choosing wrong will weigh on her whenever she gets the chance to surface again. And she already has so much weighing on her conscience.
“Hold still,” Gregory says, standing on her bed so he’s taller than her. He lifts the bunny head. “This will only hurt a moment.”
Vanessa smiles sadly, looking around her room one last time.
This is for the best.
-x-x-x-
The Mimic hums to himself, idly folding laundry. Across from him, sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a book, is his son. The book had been assigned to Gregory for a school project. Mimic knows this, because he was the one that assigned the assignment. Perks of homeschooling and all that.
“How’s the book?” He asks, setting aside the laundry basket now full with clean, folded clothes. His next stop is to put them all away.
“Fine,” Gregory answers, eyes still roving the pages.
He laughs, the sound mechanical and thoroughly unnatural. “Good. Remember to start on that paper when you’re done. Wouldn’t want you to get behind.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gregory mutters, flipping the page. He ruffles his son’s hair, and heads with the laundry basket upstairs.
It had been a miracle finding this nice farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. And with Vanny’s savings that she built up from years of working nonstop at the Pizzaplex, and his hacking skills, the house became theirs in no time at all. It’s perfect - from its location, to the extra rooms for Gregory’s homeschooling and Vanny’s work-from-home job, to even the old landline in the kitchen - this house will (hopefully) be their forever home.
He passes Vanny’s office in the hallway. She nods at him, before returning to her conference call. He doesn’t allow them to shut their doors unless he’s with them, no exceptions. But both his kids are pretty good at following that rule.
He lets out a chittering sigh. According to his internal clock, it’s already one in the afternoon, which means he missed the chance for them to have lunch as a family. Now, he’ll have to wait until dinner. Oh, well.
He puts away Gregory’s laundry first. Mimic likes to use the time to check and see how his son is doing. Going through his son’s things - for protection of course - little boys shouldn’t have secrets. Especially not from him. Secrets are dangerous. Full and unbridled honesty and transparency is the only policy, and the only policy he’s willing to allow into his house.
He opens cupboards and cabinets with practiced ease. He flips over pillows, untucks blankets, and slides his hands underneath the mattress. Nothing.
He smiles. Perfect. Gregory hasn’t been keeping secrets from him.
Mimic hums to himself, moving on to Vanny’s room. He doesn’t look through her things like he does to Gregory, but he does test her. Sometimes he’ll do small tests to ensure her microchip still works by calling to her within her mind, or obscuring her vision with static. If she holds her head or otherwise looks bothered, then he knows it’s still working.
Her room is a little more messy than Gregory’s, but that’s mostly because he pesters his son until he cleans his room spick and span. It’s not like he has to worry about a job or anything. Not like Vanny does anyway.
He leaves her folded clothes on top of her dresser. Mimic leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
-x-x-x-
Gregory knows there’s something wrong, but he can’t put his finger on what. The feeling of wrongness never leaves him, if anything it tends to get stronger whenever his dad’s around or he thinks too much or whenever Vanny starts to cry. It doesn’t trigger around Vanny or Freddy or around any of the nice people that deliver their groceries (given he’s banished to his bedroom whenever they come around, but they seem nice, looking at them from his bedroom window), only his dad seems to single-handedly put him on edge. Which is weird for a multitude of reasons, the least of which being that his dad hasn’t done anything to hurt him.
There’s a sudden and sharp knock at the door. The sound echoes through the house, and Gregory looks towards the stairs to see if his dad or Vanny are coming to greet whoever it is. It’s not Monday, so they can’t be a delivery person. Which probably means it’s someone with a broken down car. It happens quite a lot on this particular stretch of road, and with nowhere to go for miles around, their farmhouse is the only place people can seek assistance. He’s seen Vanny offer her work phone, once or twice, and the landline at least once.
He puts his book down on the coffee table. It’s only a hundred-and-sixty-three pages, but he can’t focus on anything besides the knocking on the door. His report isn’t due for another week anyways, and he’s sure his dad would give him an extension if need be. His dad is merciful like that.
Gregory waits several seconds more before he heads for the door. He’s never been allowed to greet strangers, but someone has to open the door. And he guesses that someone is going to be him.
“Hello!?” Someone calls out, a man by the sounds of it.
His dad would really, really hate him talking to strangers, but it’s just talking. What’s the harm in that? Maybe they need assistance? Gregory would hate being stranded with no way to get help. It feels downright cruel.
He opens the front door, and immediately the sound of rainfall is evident. When did it start raining? Had he been so engrossed in his book that he blocked out the rest of the world? The screen door remains shut, leaving it as a sort of shield against the stranger just in case.
The stranger in question looks to be a young man, maybe late-teens to early-twenties, judging by his rumpled suit and what was probably once slicked back hair but is now a soaking mess. He smells of axe-body spray, cheap aftershave, and hair gel. Gregory wrinkles his nose.
He greets the man politely, “hello. Do you need help?”
“Oh…uh…yes….please. My car…it uh…broke down a mile or so down the road. Would you mind lending me a cellphone, or letting me use the landline. I shouldn’t be more than a minute. I would’ve used my own, but I forgot it in my rush out the door this morning. I had this interview I was heading to, but I guess I won’t be making it to that now.” He laughs, Gregory stares at him.
“Bad luck,” he says, grimacing. He starts to open the door. “Sur-” but stops short. Is he even allowed to do this, let strangers into their house? The answer, he’s sure, would be a resounding “no!” But surely helping someone in need could be forgiven in the eyes of his father. Surely, he wouldn’t be punished for showing a bit of kindness?
Wordlessly, he opens the door the rest of the way, allowing the man entry. He leads him towards the kitchen. “We have a landline in the kitchen. It’s old, though, so it’s a bit staticky.”
“That’s fine,” the young man says, following closely behind.
“Here it is,” he says, handing it off to the man. “I think we also have a phonebook…somewhere around here.”
“I should be fine, thank you. I just need to call my brother.”
“Okay,” Gregory mutters, shrugging his shoulders. He returns to the living room, and stretches out on the now laundry-free couch.
They don’t have many electronics that most, if not all modern houses have, like TVs or computers or cellphones. The only caveat to that are Vanny’s work phone and computer, which are heavily monitored by their dad to ensure she’s being safe and responsible. And the TV in their dad’s room that is hooked up to a near-ancient VCR that is slow to rewind. They sometimes have family movie nights and end up falling asleep watching reruns of old sitcoms, movies, or the buzzing static of an old TV.
Soon, the man returns. “Thanks for letting me use your phone. My brother should be here in a few.”
Without Gregory saying a word, the man seems to venture closer, and plants himself right on the couch. He pulls his legs back, suddenly wary. This hadn’t been a part of the plan, but maybe he’s just paranoid? All those scary talks with his dad about “stranger danger” must be getting to him.
The man picks up the book Gregory left on the coffee table. “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream,” he reads off the title. “Good book, even better video game. Have you played it?”
Gregory shakes his head, “no.” Because he isn’t allowed to play most video games. Occasionally, if he’s good, his dad will hand over a Gameboy for him to play with. His favorite games by far are “Mario,” “Donkey Kong,” and “Tetris.” But he’s sure that those don’t count, and he’s sure his dad would never allow him to play the game this book is based on. He was already up in arms about letting him choose the book to begin with.
“That’s a darn shame,” the man goes on. “You’re really missing out.” He puts the book back. “Beautiful house. It reminds me of my grandparents’.” Gregory isn’t entirely sure having their house compared to an old couple’s is much of a compliment, but then again, maybe he’s just out of practice with other people? So, he politely nods along.
They sit in uncomfortable silence for a long while. Too long, if you ask him. If Gregory listens closely, he can hear the sounds of Vanny on a conference call, and the near-silent thud, thud, thud of his dad’s footsteps, moving from room to room. Doing his daily search of their rooms.
Soon, though, like a foghorn on a perilous night, a car honks their horn out front.
“That’s my ride,” He says, standing up to go.
Gregory sits up, ready to lead him back to the front door. Maybe his dad wouldn’t ever have to know that he let a stranger into the house? Maybe he can get away with this? He spots Freddy standing in the doorway between the living room and dining room. His eyes seem to glow in that familiar purple hue, a maniacal glint in them. A subtle warning to all that may cross their family. Instantly, he’s on guard.
“Freddy?” He says, holding his hands up in a placating manner. This, unfortunately, gets the man’s attention.
He backs up, nearly tripping over the coffee table. “What the fuck!”
“Strangers are not allowed in the house without prior authorization by your father, Gregory. You are aware of this, yes?”
Gregory inwardly groans. “Yeah, but-”
“Then, you understand why I have to dispose of….” He isn’t sure animatronics can show emotion, but Freddy somehow managed to show his disgust towards the man who had done nothing wrong except knock on their door. “....this man….”
The man seems to be in shock, which is understandable given the situation. But Gregory really wishes he would shut his mouth. There are a million ways for this to end, and rambling and cussing is probably the best way to ensure you don’t walk out of here.
Freddy locks his gaze on him, following after the man.
“What-what are you doing here? Aren’t you- no that’s impossible. Why would the Glamrock Freddy be in some rundown, shabby house in the middle of nowhere? It-it doesn’t make any sense.” He tries to make a run for it for the front door, but it’s no use. His hand grips the handle, turning it. The door opens partway, but is quickly slammed shut by Freddy who yanks him backwards by his shirt collar.
The man screams, and all Gregory can do is shrink down and cover his ears. He brings his legs to his chest, curling up.
The sounds of ripping and tearing fill the quiet. Over the noise he can hear Vanny pausing her meeting and coming downstairs, and their dad’s footsteps rushing closely behind.
He remains on the couch, using the throw blanket they use for chilly days inside, as cover against the gruesome sight.
The man eventually stops screaming, but not before attracting his brother’s attention. The sound of the car’s door slamming shut is loud, even with the chaos unfolding in the mudroom. He hears his dad pull Freddy off the man, praising him for a job well done. There’s this awful rustling noise as, he assumes, the body of the man is dragged away by Freddy, further into the house.
He listens to Vanny and his dad’s muffled voices as they discuss what to do next. The man’s brother is knocking on the front door, sounding two seconds away from kicking the door down.
Gregory breathes in and out. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, his stomach roils, and it’s all he can do to hold onto his lunch. He sniffles, wiping his teary-eyes and snotty nose on the sleeve of his sweater.
He’s forced to listen as the man’s brother is invited inside, blissfully unaware that something monstrous has just occurred and he’s about to see the aftermath of that.
“What the fuck!” The man yells.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over like a mantra. Gregory hums a lullaby to himself. One that he’s sure someone has sung to him before, but he can’t remember who. “...when you wake, you shall find all the pretty, little horses.” He continues to hum the melody, the rest of the lullaby escaping his conscious mind.
He falls asleep like that, ears covered and brain buzzing with half-shaded memories.
I want to share that burnout is a seismic shift in a person’s priorities, one that the body enacts by force as a self-preservation tactic—and that some people are so transformed by the experience they can never piece their old life back together. But…all of this might be a good thing. In many ways, burnout is an attempt by the body to give us our freedom back—but it can only do so by taking away our ability to be exploited.
Devon Price, “You Might Not Recover from Burnout. Ever.”
